We spent the next four hours riding around farmland outside the port, looking for a suitable bivouac site for a thousand or so soldiers. Several of those we saw had what we needed—level ground, sufficient space for tentage in a perimeter, good water, and room for sanitary facilities—but Mr. Davenport waved us off those properties because they are owned by Tory sympathizers.

Finally, about a mile west of the port, not far off the north-south post road, he took us to just what we needed and declared, “If this works for you, it will work for all. The owner is the widow of a Patriot killed during the fight for Breed’s Hill on June 17th. She and her three young children are now residing in town with her sister. If you can spare a few coins for the crop damage that will most certainly occur, I will ask her to let Colonel Arnold use the farmhouse as his temporary headquarters.”

Capt. Febiger agreed immediately.

We rode back into town and went immediately to Machias Liberty’s berth to find at least a half dozen more ocean-going transports in the harbor and several men sitting atop the Machias Liberty pilothouse talking with Captain O’Brien. He welcomed us aboard and introduced them to us as “Patriot merchant masters” and us to them as “Colonel Arnold’s Riflemen paymasters.” He then announced, “These seven Captains want to see the color of your money.”

I went below to the Captain’s cabin, brought the saddlebags on deck, checked to ensure the wax seals were intact and opened one of the flaps to show the coins within. Their eyes widened as Capt. Febiger said, “There are three more pockets with an equal amount in them just like what you see here. What we have brought is more than enough to compensate you for half the sum you each agreed to with Mr. Tracy. As all agreed, the balance will be paid when we arrive in Gardinerston. We need you to tell your fellow sea-farers, they must be here no later than sunset on Friday, ­September 15th.”

They all agreed to do so and departed.

When they were gone, Captain O’Brien and Mr. Davenport commended us for the way in which we handled the briefing and agreed to meet again in the morning. As Captain Febiger and I were shouldering our rifles, gear, and the saddlebags to head back to Wolfe’s Tavern, Mr. Davenport said, “There is something I should tell you. In 1762, my father, William Davenport, built the tavern where you are staying. During the last war—he served as a captain under General Wolfe in the campaign against the French. He was with Wolfe when the general was killed. The sign in front of the tavern is a poorly rendered image of the general my father revered. And we are now at war against descendants of General Wolfe.”